ah finally the article for me
when pretty girl calls u pretty: br….br o..
my hobbies include staying up until 2am for no reason and being exhausted the next day
sure everyone says theyre excited about ‘spirit week’ but the minute i awaken a few ancient spirits and raise the dead suddenly im a ‘witch’ and ‘ruining homecoming’
INTJ: That one student who always questions the teacher when no one should be questioning the teacher and then acts as if they were the one being wronged when the teacher tells them not to question them.
ENTJ: The person who calls the teacher out on their mistakes more than the INTJ but are still somehow liked by said teacher.
INFJ: The one who can at times seem like the loudest person in the world but at other times be the person no one ever sees. The person who’s comments frequently get the remark of “That was deep”
ENFJ: The biggest moral police anyone ever met, emphasizes fairness and overall rightness.
ISFJ: The quiet kid who has a heart of gold and is kind to everyone, but at the same time can be bluntly realistic.
ESFJ: The person who loves everyone and everyone loves simply because they are just lovable, and, like the ISFJ, bluntly realistic at times.
ESTJ: The kid who knows what is right and is sure to let everyone know that fact.
ISTJ: The kid who always seems to get their homework done during the day and is excellent when it comes to details no one else remembers.
ISFP: The kid that never seems to get it, but you can’t help but love them anyways for either their unique fashion sense or artistic tendencies.
ESFP: The one everyone loves to talk about and seems always to be the center of drama and attention in some way, good or bad.
ESTP: The kid who is constantly reminding everyone they are the best whether they believe it or not. Can usually be found doing something outdoors or sports related.
ISTP: The kid who surprises everyone with their abilities constantly but at the same time has a bit of trouble with either following too much or being too independent
ENFP: The blonde who knows they are blonde and is totally fine with it because they have more fun then all the types combined. Constantly chasing rabbits in conversations and trying to spread their wonderfulness to all.
INFP: The kid who seems to like everything weird. Trips a lot, and is never really present but lovable all the same.
ENTP: The kid who is good at being a little off, but in a way you can’t help but be drawn to. Talks in riddles and prefers it that way.
INTP: The kid that nobody really has any
Idea about and could possibly be discreetly building a time machine or something as equally genius in their room.
If you say “Uncomfortable” in the mirror three times Brian Sella will show up and complain about your boyfriend
I was having a conversation with someone important to me a few months ago and they said something I had never heard before.
We were talking about depression. More specifically- the flash-flood of bulletproof mania, and it’s inevitable descent into lengthy, paralyzing anguish- our shared condition.
“The Happy-Sads.” they said. “That’s what my doctor calls them”.
I rested in the hum-quiet lapse that happens every so often on the phone.
It seemed such a simple way to put it, but it summed it all up. I hear these little pieces all the time- I think we all do- someone says something, a turn of phrase, or a sentence fragment- and it sticks. It resonates. It becomes a short story or the subject of a comic, a song title- sometimes more.
It felt like something larger and smaller at the same time- it made sense of everything, boiling it down to a simple phrase- and I laid down under it’s gravity.
I remember being a boy, and the times where everything was quiet. Those were the briefest moments, and you had to catch them like comets. Then came chaos and noise- reckless, indestructible enthusiasm. That part lasted longer than the quiet, but not nearly as long as the empty.
I think it was easier for those older than me to say I was simply shy, and I wasn’t to hear the word “introverted” until I got to high school, and I didn’t hear anyone seriously talk about “depression” until I was in college- and even then it was just something you could “will away”. No one’s son or daughter was “crazy” or a “manic-depressive”. Labels. From youth to adulthood I would bounce back and forth from “very artistic” to “quiet”.
If my depression was robbing the bank, then my anxiety was waiting in the get-away car outside, masked and armed. There would be stretches that would go on for weeks where I thought I was going to Hell. These would segue into stretches where, knowing that everyone was going to die eventually and I would lose everyone I knew, I couldn’t spend more than 2 minutes in school before going home in hysterics. I just didn’t want to lose a single moment with people I loved- moments I could never get back.
My anxiety found different ways of manifesting itself- more subdued versions as I got older, but the back and forth, the up and down, stayed the same. You couldn’t wind a watch to it, but you could see it just over the hill, and you’d wait for it to hit.
Years of it.
Then I learned to use it, to tap into it, but I was hiding, not facing.
Being a singer in a band allowed me to tap into 2 very extreme emotions, and ones I knew very well- violent happiness and theatrical despair. This worked for me for years. And the more I could use them every night, the less I had to deal with them during the day, or night afterwards. Zeroes in a bunk, zeroes in the morning, drinking coffee, watching mile-markers.
Zeroes. Years of them.
I then decided to deal with it.
I had another conversation, again with someone important to me, but this person was life-threateningly ill. They said to me one thing that was the most important.
“Everything is temporary. When you’re happy- it’s temporary. Sad? Temporary. Job? Temporary. Bought a house? It’s only yours until you no longer need it. “
There were two ways to look at it- happy or sad. But everything was temporary.
In your worst moments, where you are staring into the blackest hole, the razor-lined mouth of a vicious, rabid animal- when you aren’t good enough, pretty enough, thin enough, smart enough- when the worst thing inside you chooses to attack- it is temporary. Likewise, when you are in those moments of pure joy, surrounded by your loved ones, high scoring skee-ball, holding your best friends hand at a concert- it is also temporary.
And that is ok.
It is life, and living, or the closest thing to it- but more than that there is help.
I go to therapy- my doctor and I don’t use labels, because she believes that every single person is a different case. What one person has more of, another has less of.
And in the differences, we are all the same- imbalanced, and some of us need an assist. I grew up in an era that came off the tail end of damning the notion of mental treatment, so it was a dirty phrase. Unfortunately it still is today. The labels linger, the stigma exists, and all of it keeps help further away.
This is the part where I get serious and say that if you suffer from severe depression, you should seek treatment. If no one takes you seriously- find someone that will. Knowing what I know now, I wouldn’t fear a single repercussion for taking my mental health seriously and in my hands. Nothing would stop me. Not a label, or a joke- nothing.
I hope you find comfort in this. I hope you know that a lot of people, including myself, battle the beast all the time, and we win. I have finally gotten myself to a place where I no longer face the extremes, but it takes work, every week- I get up, and I make sure I am at my session- even the days where I don’t want to be there. I would imagine you’d feel the same way sometimes, and that is ok. Maybe it’s even hard for you to take the first steps- and that’s ok too.
I know you can.